Each and every year millions of Irish, Irish-ish and amateur alcoholics are needlessly distracted from their Holy Tradition of drinking themselves into a stupor in the name of Saint Patrick, a Roman Briton slave holding the dubious honour of bringing Christianity to an island that would use it as another convenient excuse to blatter the hell out of each other for centuries.

The source of this terrible distraction?

An onslaught of half-hearted, dyed-green references to St. Patrick’s Day as St. Patty’s Day.

It gnaws at them. It riles them up. It makes them want to fight… you know, more than usual.

IT'S PADDY, NOT PATTY. EVER.

SAINT PATRICK’S DAY? GRAND.

PADDY’S DAY? SURE, DEAD-ON.

ST. PAT’S? AYE, IF YE MUST.

ST. PATTY? NO, YE GOAT!

Paddy is derived from the Irish, Pádraig, hence those mysterious, emerald double-Ds.

Patty is the diminutive of Patricia, or a burger, and just not something you call a fella.

There is not a sinner in Ireland that would refer to a Patrick as “Patty”. It’s as simple as that.